


you're all i have

by chocobos



Series: stay close to me [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, PROMPTO JUST WANTS TO FIND LOVE OKAY, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 02:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17417270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocobos/pseuds/chocobos
Summary: Over the years, Prompto’s grown accustomed to the disappointment. He’s lost count of the amount of times his heart has started at a gallop only to stop him in his tracks as his entire circulatory system turns to ice in disappointment when he remembers he’s letting his irrationality get the best of him. There’s no way he’s going to meet his soulmate doing something mundane like opening the door for them. There’s simply no way.





	you're all i have

**Author's Note:**

> pls excuse any formatting issues i am posting this w three (3 minutes) to spare so ill edit these notes into something presentable asap!!  
> anyway this was written for day 1 of promnis week, for the block 'soulmates'. 
> 
> BETAD BY ME BEAUTIFUL BOYFRIEND TYSM FOR CONVINCING ME TO STICK WITH THIS ONE <33  
> i'm going to try and write one for every day but i'll be real i doubt they'll all be this long (i hope) 
> 
> thank you for reading if you do, i hope u enjoy my first offering of the week! :3

\--

 

Prompto would like to say he gets through most days without thinking he’s meeting his soulmate, but unfortunately life has decided to take a massive shit on his face.

It hadn’t always been so bad, especially not when the words had first appeared on his forearm, a neat, tight script that looked way too fancy to be on Prompto’s tiny arms. Prompto had thought they were kind of cool, then. He had gotten his soulmark before everyone else in his kindergarten class. He remembers in vivid detail, sitting next to Robbie Thompson and feeling the sharp scratch of heated cat claws. Nothing could’ve stopped him from immediately throwing his heavy coat off of him to try and get a peek at the words.

His teacher couldn’t even be mad at him for disrupting the class, not when it was so important.

Prompto was so jazzed about having a soulmate that he didn’t even care that the words on his forearm were boring. He didn’t even spare it a thought. Of course Prompto’s soulmate was interesting, Prompto wouldn’t be destined for anything less. He wasn’t worried.

My thanks, was nestled there, right below the ditch of his elbow. Prompto wasn’t old enough to know anyone who talked like that, which was a little disappointing. He probably wouldn’t meet whoever they were for a while then.

That’s okay, Prompto decides.

He’d wait his entire life if it meant he could at the very least catch a glimpse. He may not know a lot, but he does know not many people get the chance.

Prompto will wait as long as it takes for the world to be ready for them.

 

 

 

\- - - -

 

 

He supposes that thought is why the Astrals decide to timewarp the shittiness of Prompto’s life into hyper speed and collectively decide to have their fun with driving him up a proverbial wall for twenty-four ridiculous, soulmate induced hours.

 

 

\----

 

i.

This is how it starts.

Over the years, Prompto’s grown accustomed to the disappointment. He’s lost count of the amount of times his heart has started at a gallop only to stop him in his tracks as his entire circulatory system turns to ice in disappointment when he remembers he’s letting his irrationality get the best of him. There’s simply no way he’s going to meet his soulmate doing something mundane like opening the door for them. There’s no way.

Still, that doesn’t stop the innermost part of himself from hoping. Doesn’t make the dissatisfaction any easier to handle.

He should be used to it by now. Which is why, he supposes, he really isn’t surprised that he doesn’t even get through the elevator ride to his apartment without running into someone. It starts out innocent enough. The elevator doors are closing and he sees the blur of dark, curly hair flop down the hallway in time with the man’s running pace. Without even thinking, Prompto’s sticking out a hand to stop the elevator from closing completely.

The man looks so utterly grateful Prompto feels a little bad that he didn’t leave his apartment twenty seconds later just so the man wouldn’t have had to run. The man makes it to the elevator at last, and he dutifully steps to the side so there’s room for both of them. The apartment building is more than a little rundown. It’s nothing short of a miracle the elevator even works at all.

“My thanks,” the man says.

Yup, there’s his heart doing the most it can to be a fool, racing off like at a thundering speed in his chest.

“Seriously,” the man continues. “You have no idea how much you just saved my ass.”

Prompto wholeheartedly needs all the support the elevator wall provides him as his heart comes back down from the clouds.

“No problem, man. I wasn’t about to be the dude that didn’t hold the elevator for you,” Prompto assures him.

The man laughs, and doesn’t have any life altering realization like he’s been waiting for Prompto his entire life, so he figures it’s pretty much safe to say he’s decidedly not his forever betrothed.

Another one bites the dust, as they say.

 

 

\----

 

 

ii.

 

Prompto figures that’s the end of it. He’s never had more than one potential encounter in a day, and he doubts that kind of thing would be possible anyway. The universe still needs to balance itself out, right? Something like that, he’s sure he’s heard about it during one of those documentaries he watches when he can’t sleep.

The sad part of it is that he doesn’t even make it into work before this one either.

It happens on the subway of all things. Not that there’s anything wrong with subways or anything, but people are generally assholes who wouldn’t glance twice at you for a cornchip. Prompto doubts they’ve spit on him if he were on fire, if he’s honest. Though that might have something to do with him being from Niflheim more than anything.

Prompto’s managed to grab a good seat this time, which he foolishly thinks might be a sign his day is turning around for the better.

The subway car is quiet, almost a little too quiet. Prompto reaches into his jacket pocket to bring out his phone and a pair of headphones that are falling apart, held together only by bull-headed stubbornness and long swathes of duck tape. He thumbs through his most recent playlist, shuffling the mix without a second thought before shoving it back in his pocket.

Now comes his favorite part of the morning; people watching.

It’s fun even on the days he doesn’t feel like lugging his camera to and from the bookstore, and it’s definitely one of those mornings where Prompto wishes he brought it with him. There’s a woman in the corner, the wild mess of her curls frames her face, laying nicely against the bright fabric of her scarf. The man two rows down from him has the morning paper spread across his lap, glasses slipping down his nose. He can’t help but snort with amusement every time the man huffs an annoyed sigh and pushes them up once more, stubbornly believing that this time will somehow be more successful than the last hundred.

Prompto’s so caught up in people watching that he almost doesn’t notice the kid in the corner who is practically falling asleep wedged between the wall and the handrails. He doesn’t want to be that asshole who lets a kid fall asleep standing up, and before Prompto process what he’s doing completely, he’s pushing himself out of his seat, and gently calls,

“Yo, kid!”

The kid’s eyes snap open without a pause, and Prompto rubs the back of his head sheepishly when his expression melts into unadulterated panic.

“A seat just opened up,” Prompto explains, voice gentle. “You should take it before you fall over, dude.”

The kid eyes him suspiciously for a few moments, like he thinks Prompto’s trying to pull a fast one over on him, but ultimately decides the chance of a place to rest is something he can’t pass up.

“Thank you, Mister,” The kid says.

Prompto goes over to where the kid had been dozing, taking his place between a woman who is looking at him like he rescued the kid from a burning building rather than just gave up a seat on a fifteen-minute subway ride and a man who is currently browsing the ‘hotandsingle’ tag on Lucisgram.

Prompto rolls his eyes so hard, turning away from the dude, thinking that this was the end of it and he could spend the rest of his subway ride in peace. Only he can see the blur of pink hair out of the corner of his eye, and he looks up to see the woman from a few seconds ago leaning even further into his space.

She smiles at him, so soft around the edges that Prompto can’t help but feel like he’s been punched for a few seconds. “My thanks,” she says, and gestures towards the boy who is now passed out with his head resting against the wall behind him. “That’s the first time he’s had somewhere to sit, and he obviously isn’t getting enough sleep at home.”

Prompto shrugs. “It’s nothing. He's just some poor kid falling asleep on his feet,” he says, smiling a little. “You know him?”

“I'm his babysitter, actually,” she confirms.

Prompto’s eyes light up. “Yeah? I always thought that would be fun…”

They talk until Prompto’s stop ten minutes later, and it’s only after he’s bounding down the stairs and heading towards the bookshop on the corner that he realizes that he had just met failed-soulmate-number-two for the day.

Wonderful.

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

iii.

 

This time, at least, the Astrals or the universe or whoever decide to go easy on him and wait until he’s into his shift for the next one.

Ravus, his boss, got in a new shipment of books this morning, which means that Prompto’s spent the last several hours placing them in their proper places on their respective shelves. He remembers the first time he was in charge of stocking said shelves and the hour long scathing lecture it had earned him when he was caught red-handed doing it wrong was equally as mortifying. Now, though, thankfully, it’s just a distant, disturbing memory and he can easily do this in his sleep.

The chime above the door goes off when he’s pushing the final book in its proper place. Prompto smiles, stacking the empty boxes in front of him before picking them up to toss them behind the counter. He’ll deal with them later. He lets the customer do their thing around the shop for the time being; he really only interferes when they’re obviously having trouble. It’s not the most fantastic customer support out there, probably.

Oh, well.

He isn’t as bad as Ravus, who thinks his time honored tradition of glaring and grunting customers into submission is as good as serving them with a smile. Really, it’s a wonder this place was standing long enough for Prompto to find it.

He chuckles to himself at the thought, throwing himself down onto the stool at the register to kill time.

He flips on the radio while he waits for the customer to find whatever it is they’re looking for, having forgotten to put it on when he was caught up in making sure the shelves were stocked. The opening chords of an acoustic guitar flow from the surround sound speakers Ravus, for some reason, has installed in the shop.

He takes out his phone to scroll through his Lucisgram feed, liking a post here and there. One from his favorite wildlife magazine and an emotional, unnecessarily long post of a high school classmate’s dramatically romantic engagement.

A throat clears above his, and Prompto fumbles with his phone for a few moments before finally giving up and just tossing his phone underneath the counter to deal with later. He comes face to face with the cutest freckles he’s ever seen. It shocks him into stillness for several seconds; freckles have always very firmly been in the ‘not cute’ category (or at least they are when it comes to his own).

Prompto, who is used to being around incredibly attractive people absolutely plays it _one-hundred percent_ cool.

“Heyaz!” he greets, grabbing for the books she placed on the counter only a few moments ago. He already feels a little weird that she caught him goofing off on his phone so he doesn’t try to make any other conversation. It doesn’t seem to bother her any, if anything she almost looks relieved she doesn’t have to make uncomfortable conversation.  
  
He can't help but agree. 

Prompto scans the last book, balancing the small mountain of them in front of him while he reaches down for a bag, shaking it to life to start piling them inside for her. It’s a big bag, but she also has a lot of books, so he doubles it up just in case. He loudly clacks the bottom right button on the register.

He rattles off her total to her. She reaches into her back pocket to leaf through a carefully folded wad of cash. The look on her face quickly morphs into one of disappointment. “Aw, sugar. Could’ve sworn I grabbed that extra five.”

She says it low enough that it’s obviously not meant for anyone but her own private musings, and yet he can tell from the line of her shoulders that she’s resigning herself into putting back one of the books. He doesn’t know much about trade school, but it’s obvious that most of these books are textbooks. And well, been there, done that.

“Don’t worry about it,” Prompto says to her, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s been listening to her for the last thirty seconds when he definitely has been. “It’s on the house, it’s only a few dollars.”

There’s a furrow between her eyebrows now, and her mouth pulls into a slight pout that makes Prompto think she’s about to politely decline his offer, but she must see something on his face that makes her reconsider, because instead she’s smiling at him, sweet like honey, and hands over the money without any fuss.

“My thanks, pumpkin,” she says, and wow, oh wow. Prompto is totally not prepared for how damn lovely her accent is. She’s obviously from outside the walls, just like Prompto is, and once again, the absolute last thing on his mind is how she said the words that are forever burned across his forearm. “You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet, don’t ya?”

Prompto laughs, shaking his head. “Well, I can say that’s the first time I’ve heard that one,” he jokes, and only realizes after it’s falling gracelessly from his mouth how very uncool he sounds right now.

However, instead of looking offended, the woman in front of him kind of looks like she’s trying to stop herself from pinching his cheeks instead. “My girl and I are new to the area, and y’seem fun. You in the business of makin’ friends...?”

He grins. “Prompto.”

“You in the business of makin’ friends, _Prompto_?”

“That’s a business I’m always firmly invested in,” Prompto assures her.

 

 

\----

 

 

Prompto gets her number, finds out her name is Cindy, and already has plans to hang out with her next week within five minutes after she leaves the shop.

Maybe meeting potential soulmates isn’t so bad.

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

(Yes, it is.)

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

iv.

 

 

Nothing, absolutely fucking nothing could’ve prepared him for the absolute train-wreck his lunch hour turns out to be.

It’s a beautiful day out today, not a cloud in sight and the sky has that barely noticeable gradient to it that Prompto loves. Despite the weird pattern the day has followed, it’s not an entirely bad one, so he uses his good mood as an excuse to walk to the sandwich joint he likes to spend his lunch breaks at.

The place is a little more packed than it usually is, but the line isn’t too long yet; there’s only a few people in front of him which means he’ll have the time to grab the seat by the window and eat outside of the dusty staff room like usual. The thought only serves to improve his good mood further, and he’s practically skipping up to the counter to order by the time there’s only one person left in front of him.  
  
Only, of course he never gets there.   
  


In that moment, Prompto hears commotion from behind him, something that sounds a lot like a phone clattering to the floor. He’s spinning around to bend down to reach for it without a second thought. His fingers brush against skin, however; someone else’s hand gets there before his does. He registers the hand underneath his are big, and when he glances over to get a proper look at them, he finds a very large (like, so, so very large) attractive man who wastes no time passing the phone back to whoever dropped it with a soft smile. Who also turns out to be a no less attractive man. He's considerably smaller, though Prompto supposes most people would be, in this situation.  
  
Instead, though, the smaller man is looking right at Prompto, for some reason, or maybe his eyes are stalled momentarily in their travel to the absolute catch just beside him. Yeah, that seems  _way_ more likely. He can't be sure, but Prompto swears his eyes don't leave his own, not even after the man murmurs an almost inaudible, 

“‘y thanks, man,” voice contorted enough that Prompto’s heart takes off at hyperspeed because whoever he's looking at doesn't even matter anymore. That definitely sounds like it’s meant for Prompto and Prompto only.

Prompto’s a fluttering mess, already, but he knows whatever he says next has to be world shattering, since it’s potentially on someone else’s skin for the rest of their lives. He opens his mouth, lips pulled upwards into a crooked smile just in time to feel the way the man behind him goes stock still. He doesn’t have to turn around to see the look on the man’s face to know that he looks like a love-drunk idiot.

“Wow, I never thought you’d be this beautiful,” the man whispers, and Prompto’s jerking back to stare at the giant of a man. Prompto doesn’t hear the man coolly try to assure his soulmate that he’s not as much of an asshole as he sounds. He doesn’t hear the cashier call out 'next!', eyes planted firmly on Prompto’s unmoving form.

His limbs suddenly feel like they all weigh as much as a behemoth each, and the rush of blood in his ears is so deafening he’s surprised he manages to make it to the bathroom in the back of the cafe before he experiences the joys of his breakfast for a second time.

How could he be so stupid?

 

 

 

\----

 

 

v.

 

 

By the time the first tease of darkness filters in through the bookshop’s windows, Prompto’s so utterly exhausted he’s weighing the merit of throwing together a makeshift bed behind the counter and accepting his fate.

He knows he’ll get an angry text from Ravus later tonight if he finds out that Prompto spent three hours in a cafe bathroom until he felt like it was safe enough that everyone who saw him make an absolute fool of himself earlier had left. He really shouldn’t tempt fate by letting the man find out Prompto even considered sleeping on the sacred floors of his life’s work.  
  
Everything aches. The feeling only multiplies as he goes through the motions of closing up the shop. He rifles through the shelves, placing any wayward books that got misplaced back in their proper order so he won't have to do it in the morning. He wipes down the counter haphazardly, throwing the rag back where he found it as soon as he's done. Prompto makes sure he has his phone, wallet, and his set of keys, and flicks off the light switch at long last. He locks the front entrance while he's up here, deciding to go out the back tonight since it cuts his time to the subway station by a third.

Prompto locks the door behind him, shoving the keys and his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he starts for station a few blocks away from work. He’s halfway down the street when he notices a tall man with meticulously spiked hair standing underneath a street light. He's _beautiful_. Prompto can't see the slope of his nose from this far away, or the color of his eyes, but there's something about the way that he's carrying himself that tells Prompto all he needs to know. He looks like he might be waiting for someone. Prompto's still staring, and that's the only reason he gets to watch in slow motion as the man somehow manages to block a blind punch that gets thrown at him out of nowhere. 

Prompto gasps, the sound dying underneath the orchestra of noise coming from the man who is trying his damnedest not to get mugged tonight. Prompto has to admire the sheer force of will alone, but it’s only after he sees the assailant land a punch to the man’s chest, and another one to his jaw, successfully knocking the man off his feet. Momentarily stunned, the assailant manages to make of with what looks like the brief glance of a manila envelope underneath his arm.   
  
And, well. Something  _changes_.

Prompto can’t explain it.

He really can’t.

He has no idea what makes him spring into action, not really, nothing other than the voice inside his head insisting he can’t just stand by and do nothing. He’s taking off without even considering the facts that a) he hasn’t ran in longer than he cares to admit to anyone (especially himself) and b) the loafers he decided to wear today because no one can see what he wears at work anyway aren’t exactly built for this.

It doesn’t stop him.

The man either is unconcerned with being caught or hadn’t thought about how long he’d actually have to run for since Prompto catches up to him behind an alley a block away from where he saw that attractive beanpole get sucker-punched. Prompto should probably keep his distance now, wait for the other dude to show up and let him deal with this, but he’s never been very good at not sticking his nose into things, so of course he doesn’t do that.

Of course he doesn’t.

When Prompto finally gets close enough to sink his hands into the dude’s windbreaker, he yanks the man back and uses all his body weight to throw the man against the wall.

“Hey!” Prompto says, and he knows it’s only the element of surprise that keeps the man pressed against the wall more than any brute strength on Prompto’s part. “That was seriously not cool, dude. Didn’t you go to Kindergarten? Stealing is not a productive way to spend your time.”

He uses the man’s shock to his advantage, yanking the manila folder from his grip and does the only sensible thing he can think of, and shoves the thing up his shirt, tucking it into his pants for extra safe keeping.

“I’m going to go give this back to the poor man you stole this from,” Prompto tells him, with a complete disregard for his personal safety.

Or at the very least, that is until Prompto’s being forcibly ripped off the man in question, and the bleary flash of overly expensive suit jacket is filling his vision as the creep in the windbreaker suffers a roundhouse kick to the face.

Well, mark Prompto down as extremely invested and horny. Like the fancy otherworldly ninja heard him, there’s another crack of skin on skin as he punches the man in the jaw, snapped bone echoing off the alley walls. The man doesn’t stop until the asshole is knocked unconscious, head bouncing off the trash can he’s thrown into.

Prompto blinks.

Wow.

The man stares at the rumpled form of the assailant for several long moments, like he’s trying to make sure the guy won’t get up again -- definitely not likely, the dude is looking all shades of dead right now -- and then runs fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it over. Prompto remembers the envelope tucked in his pants, and pulls it out to hand over to the man.

He taps it on his shoulder.

The man whirls around, mouth open to say something right as his gaze lands on Prompto’s, eyes tripping over to the manila folder Prompto’s holding out to him. The man takes it from him without a word, turning it over to see if the seal had been broken.

It hasn’t.

The man tucks the folder inside his suit this time, and Prompto doesn't really blame him. Prompto tries to think of something to say that doesn’t make him sound like the type of moron who just chased a very dangerous dude down for no reason other than his feet wanted him to, but the man beats him to it.

“My thanks,” the man’s voice is accented and deep, posh and distinctly Tenebrean.

And, Prompto --

Prompto cracks.

It’s been _such_ a long day.

He'd normally find the energy to feel a little bad, but today he just can't be bothered. Not after earlier.

“ _Wow_ ,” Prompto breathes, and he thinks that’s all he’s going to let tumble out, but the deep breath he takes also loosens his mouth and all the frustration that’s mounted since he woke up today shatters, stark and bright inside of him. “You know what? That’s exactly what my soulmate mark says, can you believe that? Like do you know how infuriating that is, dude? Do you know? ‘Cause it is a constant disappointment! I’m not saying you’re definitely my soulmate or anything, because trust me, none of you ever are, but this is ridiculous! Maybe everyone is my soulmate… or maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me, “hey, you don’t get an actual soulmate, but here you go, buddy, here’s this polite nicety to really get your hopes up, just like always--”

Prompto momentarily loses what he was going to say, and it’s not his fault, not this time, not when the man scoffs, though it quickly melts into a kind of hysterical laughter that happens when a person is pushed beyond their limit.

“What?! Are you really laughing right now? Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny, this is awful, dude.”

“My apologies,” the man manages to say, and he looks as if he really is trying to calm down, but simply cannot get a hold of himself. Prompto can admit he doesn’t really mind; the man’s laugh is infectious, and he finds himself laughing along with him. “I never thought I’d hear it.”

Prompto tilts his head. “Uh, what? A dude unloading on you for absolutely no reason?”

The man’s smile turns soft, much softer than Prompto expects. This is not the way you smile at an exhausted man who just hollered at you for the better part of ten minutes.

“I used to think the words on my back were a curse, but I must say, I quite enjoyed hearing them from you.”

Prompto’s brain definitely needs to restart no less than fifteen times before he can begin to process that information. He squeaks when it does, eyes widening as they meet the gentle calming forest of the taller man’s eyes.

“You -- you -- what?”

The man’s smile is barely a twitch of his lips now, but Prompto finds it just as pretty as it was at full force.

“I’d recognize those words anywhere,” the man admits, his voice lower by several octaves. “I’ve worn them for nearly two decades.”

Prompto only registers the burning sensation in his forearm then, and he’s peeling back the sleeves of his hoodie to see that the mark -- this man’s mark -- has faded into a dark, luxurious royal purple. Prompto traces over it with the pad of his thumb, a stretching his lips.

“Oh,” he breathes. “ _Oh_ ,” he says again. Prompto clears his throat, and tries again. “Your favorite color is purple?”

The man chuckles as he steps closer, so close now he can see the beauty mark underneath the man’s left eye, irises shining even through the reflection of his glasses. Prompto’s head is still spinning, swirling with excitement, a never ending chant of, _I have a soulmate, I have a soulmate!_ that he doesn’t even try to control.

“You’ll have to forgive me, mine is in a rather hard to reach place,” he apologizes, voice dancing with amusement and something softer that Prompto isn’t experienced enough to identify. “I’m Ignis. I’ll admit I certainly wasn’t prepared to meet you tonight.”

Prompto snorts. “Dude. Dude. You and me both,” he says, empathetically. “I’m -- I kind of can’t believe you’re in front of me right now. I think I meet you like, at least once a day. After a while it kind of all seemed impossible. Oh! Uh, I’m Prompto, though. Now excuse me while I pinch myself for the next five minutes,” he says, and he hopes his soulmate knows he isn’t even kidding.

He can just barely make out the shapes of Ignis’ lips testing the weight of his name in mouth, and then Ignis must catch sight of the man still bleeding all over the floor to their right. His mouth pulls into a frown as his hand reaches out to gently squeeze Prompto’s shoulder.

“As much as I would love to continue this conversation, I must attend to this,” Ignis says, regretfully. His voice is pained and tight enough that there’s no doubt in his mind that if he could, Ignis would probably insist on walking him home.

“Oh,” Prompto says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Are you a cop, or something?” He asks, suspiciously.

That earns him another rich laugh. “Not quite. I’m free afterwards, however. If you think you’ll still be awake. Perhaps we can continue our chat, hm? It seems we have much to talk about.”

Prompto beams at him, digging through his pockets to grab his phone and shove it into Ignis’ space. “Give me those digits then, dude.”

He watches Ignis thumb his number into Prompto’s contacts, shoving the phone back into his pocket when his soulmate -- _his soulmate!!_ \-- passes it to him again. Prompto can feel a light dusting of flush coating his cheeks and sprinkling his ears when he thinks about how much he doesn’t want to leave without at least feeling Ignis’ lips against his. Is it too soon to ask?  
  
Shit.

“Ignis?”

The taller man meets his gaze easily. “Yes, darling?”

If Prompto’s heart was uncontrollable before, he’s surprised Ignis can’t see the indent of it as it slams into his rib cage now.

“How desperate would you think I was if I asked you for a kiss before I go?”

If Ignis is surprised by his question, he doesn’t show it. Instead, the smile that creeps onto his face is equal parts indulgent and private, and it’s the last thing he sees before their lips brush against each other.

“I think that can be arranged.”

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

Prompto takes it all back.

As it turns out, he’s pretty damn lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> so that happened. i have no idea what this was but gods my wrists hurt fjsoidhg


End file.
